We crossed the Thondroril River, and everything changed. The last time I'd been through this area, it had been farmlands, healthy, wholesome. Now it reeked of sickness, death, and undeath. It was Brill, all over again. I could feel the despair, the panic, the horror, not confined to a small area like Brill, but spread over miles. What had happened while Uther let me sleep? The Order had been given warning of this, as soon as humanly possible…and I knew it had been too late. What of my babies, in Lordaeron? Baudoin? The king? The City itself, the gleaming heart of Lordaeron, thousands strong?
The farther westward we pushed, the worse it got. Finally, at the crossroads to Hearthglen to the north, and Andorhal to the south, it became palpable. More than just a feeling, it was cries in the air, smoke, and a physical stench hanging in a wan fog. Uther's face was carved in stone, emotionless; he did not speak as he turned his back on Andorhal and pointed resolutely north.
I nodded when his eyes fell on me, slamming down my visor and drawing my sword. Arthas was at Hearthglen, and things were going badly. It was all I needed to know. I'd figure out the details later.
My charger sensed the need, digging his great plate hooves into the unpaved, rutted track, his tail cascading out behind him like a flag as he threw himself into a great gallop. He gained speed with every stride, and I half expected Jaina to complain as we drew even with Uther, but she remained silent, still clinging to me.
I was expecting trouble; I was not expecting a full scale assault on Hearthglen. And even if I had been, I was not expecting just what had pressed Arthas into such a desperate defense of this town. I'd seen at least one before, in my life… My mother, risen. That had been a single undead, fitting in the darkness. This, this was thousands of risen undead, moving in the brightness of afternoon. These had been allowed to go much longer than my mother had before I put her down, a wave of mindless, shambling, rotting death. This was…. Andorhal.
Hearthglen stood, her population yet lived…this many would have had to come from the great trade center of Andorhal, behind us. Andorhal had fallen. Brill had fallen. Hearthglen hard pressed, held up only by Arthas and his men. A quarter of Lordaeron, rotting from its heart outwards.
"To Arthas!" I bellowed, and if it was possible, my charger found more speed. I could see Arthas glowing, shining, channeling the Light, my brother in duress. The charger bowled through the mass of dead flesh, ears pinned back and teeth bared, his eyes weasel bright as he brought me to Arthas's back.
"Thank the Light… Jaina." Arthas sighed, "You brought them in time."
"My brother, we stand beside you." I answered when she was silent, sliding from my charger. She steadied herself by holding on to my stirrup leather, her legs undoubtedly shaking from the long ride.
"I did." She confirmed the obvious, eying her surroundings. "They won't be enough."
"Enough to hold Hearthglen." He growled back, slapping a hand down on my knee.
Enough to pull Arthas out. My mind stated, but I remained silent. He didn't want to hear it, and obviously Jaina didn't want to say it either. He was exhausted, content to watch the Order push the line back away from him. He was also…
"Arthas, my brother." I sighed, keeping the bulk of the charger at his back, watching Uther and my brethren push back the assault. "It is no affront to require the aid of the Order to do the workings of the Light." He was embarrassed, angry. He'd had to send Jaina away, to Uther, to request help. "It is my life to stand behind you." I stated. I had no idea why they were here…last I knew, Jaina had been in Dalaran, and Arthas riding from Brill eastward, with Gavinrad. But I'd obviously slept through a lot.
